Smoke, Flames, Ghosts, and Tears
by coming up roses
Summary: Matt and Mello have a long, complicated history and a long, complicated future. Expect drama, plot twists, lemons, and general insanity. T for now, will increase. Primarily Matt's POV.


NOTE - hi guys. this is the first story i'm uploading on this account - first story i've uploaded in a couple years. i have a lot of ideas but i'm still working on the plot's skeleton. i hope you like it. there's going to be drama, dark humor, yaoi, smut, yaoi smut, angst, and the occasional fluffy bits. m x m is the main pairing. stay tuned and please review. :D matt's point of view for a while, though i suppose i'll switch to mello's in a few chapters...just whenever the story needs it.

DISCLAIMER - i own nothing. i have nothing clever to say. whoop.

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><p>Today was the day.<p>

"A new beginning," the woman told me. "A chance to live up to your potential. A chance at freedom." Her voice was not unkind - warm, even - but I didn't know her name. I had heard it more than a few times at this point, but I never bothered to learn it. Most of what she said went in one ear and out the other. Quite simply, I didn't care about her opinion on the matter of me leaving Beasley's Child Sanctuary. I didn't particularly enjoy change, and while Beasley's was a complete and utter zoo, I was free to do as I pleased. There weren't any expectations placed on me here. Except, of course, the ones assigned to me by _that woman. _

She took a liking to me from the very beginning. I guess it was because we were both gingers and she felt that such rare, misunderstood creatures should flock together for protection. The woman hardly acknowledged any of the blondes or brunettes...well, anyone aside from me, I suppose she didn't really notice anyone. I didn't look her in the face often, but I frequently caught glances from behind. She was plump and frumpy, with grey-tinged tomato red hair. Even after five years living here, her eyes remained a mystery to me.

Freedom my ass. I had freedom here. I wanted to play my Gameboy during class? Sure, go right on ahead. I wanted to skip dinner and sleep? Hell, who'd notice? I was like a worm in a dog's shit here. The dog was groomed to perfection, young, healthy, cute; but it had problems, didn't it? In this scenario, the little kids represented the dog, and us – the _older _kids - represented the hundreds of wiggling worms no one could get rid of and eventually just ignored. _Huh, maybe that wasn't the best analogy_, I thought. _Maybe I _am _loosing it. Maybe I never had it. Whatever. I just want to rot here and maybe infect a few little kids while I'm at it. _

"Mail. Mail. Mail Jeevas, look at me when I'm talking to you!" She rapped on the desk where I sat across from her with her manicured nails. I slowly pivoted my head to look at her, focusing on her mouth rather than her eyes; her beige lipstick was smeared onto uneven teeth and lined with too-dark lip liner.

"Sorry," I mumbled, sullen to the core.

"As I was saying, he should be coming soon." I didn't know who this "he" was. I supposed he would be my new caretaker. I hadn't been listening, as usual. I wasn't looking forward to leaving this orphanage, so why bother listening? I wasn't going to go, if I could help it. I took some test a few weeks ago and apparently 'astounded' the director at some _prestigious _orphanage. What, pray tell, is _prestigious_ about an association of crack babies and kids whose parents didn't want them? That's all that was in Beasley's, from what I could tell, and the same would most likely ring true in any other orphanage. Scotland wasn't exactly far removed from England, which was allegedly where I'd be going.

I had packed my few belongings a few minutes after I had been suffered to her office – strangely, when her voice boomed over the intercom, I still didn't bother to learn her name. "Mail Jeevas, come to Mrs. _'s office" was all my thoughts processed. For all I knew, her name was simply Misses. I tossed a few shirts, my one pair of badly-patched pants, my Gameboy, and some porn mags I had traded food rations to obtain into a worn black suitcase the orphanage had lent me.

And now I was here. Waiting. Being told of all the opportunities that going to this new orphanage would allow me. Scared out of my mind, though I didn't even admit my fear to myself. I loved my insignificance at Beasley's. No one had ever paid any attention to me – aside from Mrs., of course, but I was so used to brushing her aside like a gnat that she barely registered as 'attention' in my mind – but now I was being burned under a too-bright spotlight. I wanted out.

A knot formed in my throat when I heard two sharp knocks on the door. I reached up for my goggles with one hand and gripped the desk until my knuckles turned white with the other.

"That's him," Mrs. nearly whispered, the excitement evident in her voice. I had long since started concentrating on staring at the desk in front of me rather than her face. She sprung up to answer the door as the room started to swim around me. When she returned from the door she shooed me out of the chair to allow the man to sit down.

I stood awkwardly in a corner as he sat down.

"Excuse me, Mrs. _, do you mind if I allow Mr. Jeevas to sit in the chair across from mine? I wish to speak with him." His voice was steady and dignified, quite unlike the thick Scottish accents of myself and my peers.

Mrs. seemed a bit disappointed, but she muttered a "alright, whatever you want" after a few minutes. We changed positions. I froze, praying for some unknown deity to save me from this torture. He seemed well-learned, wealthy if his suit was an indicator of his money, and he already thought very highly of me. _Fuck._

"I'm Quillish Wammy, Mail. I'm pleased to meet you," he said in his proper accent, sticking his hand out. It dangled in midair for several seconds before I realized I was supposed to shake it, but by the time I considered touching this stranger he had already lowered it. "I'm the director at Wammy's House, an orphanage for children with exceptional intelligence. We would be pleased to welcome you into our establishment. Of course, if you'd rather stay at Beasley's Child Sanctuary, I understand in full though I regret your decision. Your mind is truly special."

I didn't respond. My mouth went dry.

"Oh, yes, he'll most certainly choose to attend Wammy's. Right, Mail?" said Mrs. promptly.

"Mrs. _, I'd prefer it if Mr. Jeevas-" "No I won't, you stupid bitch-"

Mr. Wammy and I responded at exactly the same time. I had never spoken like that out loud before, especially not to _her._ I spoke quietly, but there was an unmistakable flame burning underneath my words.

"Mrs. _, would you mind leaving the room for a second?" Mr. Wammy said softly. She exited with merely a glare in my general direction. As soon as the door clicked shut, he began to speak again.

"Mail, you could be great. Do you understand that? You. Could. Be. Great," he said, emphasizing his last sentence with a slight staccato. I didn't like how he used my name so often. I wasn't used to hearing it said out loud. It hurt to be reminded of my past, and even my name when said repeatedly produced a dull ache in my chest. I was named after my father. I again reached up for my goggles.

When I didn't respond, he continued.

"You're eleven years old and scored a 225 on our test. The highest you could possibly score is a 300. The rest of the children selected from this orphanage to take the test scored in the 75-120 range, and most of them were at least thirteen. You have a gift that I believe needs nurturing. It's hardly been tapped, living here. I hear you're unmotivated and don't pay attention in class; perhaps it's the material being taught. At Wammy's, you will learn espionage work. You'll learn things the vast majority of the population is not privy to. You'll learn how to manipulate technology to do your bidding. You'd be great at it."

I considered. Again, I didn't reply.

"Well, if you're not going to to give me the privilege of hearing your response, I'll assume you've chosen to stay here. In that case, I'll be going now." He picked up his briefcase and retrieved his hat from the rack by the door.

I watched his feet, clad in shiny black shoes, walk toward the door.

I stood up.

"I'll go."

I grabbed my suitcase and followed him. I looked up at him with hesitation and met his smiling eyes; I quickly averted my gaze. My stomach was churning but I ignored it. I was going to Wammy's House, for reasons unknown to even me.

"Thanks, Mrs. Duncan," he said to the woman as we walked out the door and never looked back.

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><p>I woke with a start. <em>Duncan. That's it.<em>

I smiled bitterly as I rolled over, touching a certain blonde's back in the process. I snuggled close to his warm body and fell straight back to sleep.

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><p>NOTE - please critique and review as you see fit. i'd really appreciate it. ;D<p> 


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